7
It took Kat an hour and a half to drive home, change
her clothes, and fight her way back through midtown traffic. By
that time, a major jam had built up along Dorchester Avenue,
leading to the Four Seasons Hotel. All the red lights gave her time
to shake her hair loose, dab on lipstick, brush on mascara while
looking in the visor mirror. Even with a ton of face powder the
bruises were still obvious, but at least she’d found a silk scarf
to wrap around her neck and conceal the stitches. It actually
looked rather dashing, that slash of red and purple silk trailing
across the black dress. Too bad the whole effect required high
heels; before the night was over, her feet would be killing
her.
The ballroom of the Four Seasons was packed. There
were probably enough furs and jewels in the room to fund the city
budget for a year. A buffet table held platters of shrimp and
smoked salmon, pastries and caviar, all of it served on real china,
of course. A balalaika troupe was playing Russian music – a tribute
to Albion’s equally depressed sister city on the Volga. Kat handed
her invitation to the official at the door and headed into the
thick of things.
She was reminded at once of why she hated going to
affairs like this, especially on her own. Bring an escort and you
were an instant social circle; go alone and you’re invisible.
Sipping at the requisite glass of white wine, she wandered through
the crowd and searched for a familiar face – any familiar face.
Mostly she saw a lot of tuxedoes, a lot of mink, a lot of
orthodontically perfect teeth bared in perfect smiles.
She heard her name called. Turning, she saw her
ex-husband. ‘And I thought you weren’t going to vote for us,’ he
said as he approached.
‘I didn’t say I would. I just can’t pass up a free
invite.’
‘Hey, I want to get a photo taken. You and the
mayor together.’ He glanced around and spotted Sampson off in a
corner, surrounded by admirers. ‘There he is. Come on.’
‘I don’t do photo ops.’
‘Just this time.’
‘I told you, I’m not here to endorse him. I’m here
to partake of a few free drinks and—’ She stopped, her gaze
suddenly focusing across the room, on a man’s fair hair. Adam
Quantrell didn’t see her; he was facing sideways, engaged in
conversation with another man. Next to Adam stood Isabel, her
equally blond hair done up in an elaborate weave of faux pearls.
The perfect couple, she thought. A stunning
pair in tuxedo and evening dress. The sort of couple you saw
epitomized in Cosmo ads.
Adam must have sensed he was being watched. He
glanced her way and froze when he saw her. To Kat’s surprise, he
abruptly broke off his conversation and began to move toward her,
across the room. She caught a glimpse of Isabel’s frown, of faces
turning to look at Adam as his broad shoulders pushed past. And
then all she could seem to focus on was him.
He was smiling at her, the relaxed greeting of an
old friend. The bruise on his cheek was almost lost in the laugh
lines around his eyes. ‘Kat,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were
coming.’ He reached out to her, and her hand felt lost in the
warmth of his grip.
‘I didn’t know I was
coming,’ she said.
The sound of a throat being cleared caught her
attention. She glanced sideways at Ed. ‘I guess I should introduce
you two,’ she said. ‘Ed, this is Adam Quantrell. Adam, this is Ed
Novak. Our acting DA.’
‘Novak?’ said Adam as the two men automatically
shook hands.
‘I’m her ex-husband,’ said Ed, grinning. ‘We’re
still very close.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Kat.
‘So you’re both campaigning for Sampson?’ asked
Adam.
‘Ed is,’ said Kat. ‘I’m not.’
Ed laughed. ‘And I’m going to change her
mind.’
‘I came for the free meal,’ said Kat. She took a
sip of wine, then she looked directly at Adam, a cool, hard gaze
that no one could mistake as flirtatious. ‘And to see you.’
‘Well,’ said Ed. ‘She always did favor the direct approach.’
‘I’d like to say I’m flattered,’ said Adam,
frowning as he studied her face. ‘But I get the feeling this isn’t
a social chat we’re about to have.’
‘It’s not,’ said Kat. ‘It’s about Nicos
Biagi.’
‘I see.’ Suddenly he seemed stiff and guarded – as
well he should be. ‘Then perhaps we should talk in private. If
you’ll excuse us, Mr. Novak.’ He placed a hand on Kat’s
shoulder.
‘Adam!’ called Isabel, moving swiftly toward them.
‘I want you to meet someone. Oh, hello, Dr. Novak! Have you
recovered from last night?’
Kat nodded. ‘A few sore muscles, that’s all.’
‘You’re amazingly resilient. I would have been
terrified, having my life threatened that way.’
‘Oh, I was terrified all right,’ admitted
Kat.
‘And then to have your car stolen. How fortunate it
was only a Subaru—’
‘Will you excuse us?’ said Adam, continuing to
guide Kat toward the exit. ‘I’ll join you later, Isabel.’
‘How much later?’
‘Just later.’ With a firm hand, he hustled Kat out
to the lobby, where it was every bit as crowded. ‘Let’s go
outside,’ he suggested. ‘At least we can get out of this
madhouse.’
They found a spot near the hotel fountain, its
trickling waters aglow in a rainbow of colored lights. The sounds
of the gathering spilled out even here, in the darkness. From the
ballroom came the faint strumming of balalaikas.
He turned to face her, his hair glittering in the
reflected lights of the fountain. ‘What’s going on?’ he
asked.
‘I could ask you the same question.’
‘Are you angry at me for some reason?’
‘Zestron-L,’ she said, looking at him intently.
‘You have heard of it, haven’t you?’
She could see at once that he had. She caught a
glimpse of shock in his eyes, and then his expression smoothed into
unreadability. So he knew. All this time he knew which drug might
be killing these people.
‘Let me refresh your memory, in case you’ve
forgotten,’ she went on. ‘Zestron-L is a long-acting narcotic, new
generation, of the class levo-N-cyclobutyl—’
‘I know what it is.’
‘Then you also know Cygnus holds the patent.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you also know your drug was out on the
streets?’
‘It’s not possible. We’re still in the research
stage – primate trials. It hasn’t gone to human trials yet.’
‘I’m afraid human trials have already started. The
lab is South Lexington. And the results aren’t too encouraging. Bad
side effects. Mainly, death.’
‘But it hasn’t been released yet!’
‘Nicos Biagi got his hands on it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The hospital couldn’t ID it, so they sent the
blood sample to a university lab. A lucky break, too. They were
able to identify it.’
‘There are two other victims—’
‘Yes, and a funny thing happened to their blood
samples. Jane Doe’s got lost in transit. And as for Xenia Vargas, I
won’t trust any results I get back on hers. In fact, I half expect
that her blood sample will get lost as
well.’
‘Don’t you think you sound just the slightest bit
paranoid?’
‘Paranoid? No, I’m afraid I’ve never had much of an
imagination. It’s one of my faults.’
He moved closer to her, so threateningly close she
had to fight the impulse to retreat a step. ‘Whatever your faults,
Dr. Novak, a lack of imagination isn’t one of them.’
‘Let me lay out the facts, disturbing but true.
First, Jane Doe’s specimens were lost. I know I labeled them
properly, I filled out all the right forms, and put them in the
right box.’
‘The carrier could have lost it. Or it could’ve
been stolen from his vehicle. There are dozens of
possibilities.’
‘Then there’s the matter of Xenia Vargas. Her
specimens did make it to the state lab, but
they can’t ID the drug. So they send it to an outside lab for
further testing. Guess which lab?’ She looked him in the eye.
‘Cygnus.’
He didn’t even flinch. Calmly he said, ‘We
routinely handle requests from the state. We’re only thirty miles
away and we’re better equipped.’
‘Third, there’s the matter
of Dr. Michael Dietz, Nicos Biagi’s doctor. He identifies the drug
as Zestron-L. Then he resigns from Hancock General and skips town.
I think he was forced out by the hospital. Because Cygnus just
happens to be a major donor to Hancock
General.’
‘Cygnus had nothing to do with Dietz’s resignation.
He was already on his way out.’
‘How would you know that?’
‘I’m on the hospital board. Three malpractice suits
were more than we’d tolerate. Dietz was a disaster waiting to
happen. His license was already in jeopardy.’
Kat paused. That would
account for Dietz’s reluctance to face the press. He didn’t need
the publicity.
‘But Zestron-L is your
drug. And someone’s trying to keep its identity from the ME.
Someone’s protecting Cygnus.’
He began to pace back and forth by the fountain.
‘This is bizarre,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t see how that ID could be
right.’
‘You can’t argue with a lab result.’
He stopped and looked at her, the gaudy lights from
the fountain washing him in their watery glow. ‘No,’ he said at
last. ‘You’re right. I can’t.’
The absolute steadiness of his gaze made her want
to believe that there were no lies between them, no hidden agendas,
that his bewilderment was real. I must be
getting soft, she thought. A pair of
blue-gray eyes, a tuxedo, a man too gorgeous for words, and my
horse sense bites the dust. What is wrong with me?
‘Come with me,’ he said, and held out his
hand.
She didn’t move, feeling shaken by the sudden
temptation to take his hand, to feel her whole body swallowed in
his warmth. This was what she’d fought against, from the first time
they’d met, this quickening of desire.
He was still holding out his hand, still trapping
her in a gaze she couldn’t seem to escape. ‘Come on, Kat,’ he
said.
‘Where?’
‘To Cygnus. The lab. Tonight, I’m going to root out
the answers. And I want you there with me, as a witness.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure that you’ll
like the answers.’
‘You may be right. But it’s clear to me that you’re
not going to let up. One way or another, you’re going to dig up the
truth. So I might as well work with you. Not against you.’
The logic of the devil. How could she argue with
it?
She said, at last, ‘All right. I’ll go with
you.’
‘First let me smooth things over with
Isabel.’
Back in the ballroom, she watched him approach
Isabel, saw the hurried excuses, the apologetic head-shaking.
Isabel glanced in Kat’s direction with a poorly disguised look of
annoyance.
Kat spotted Ed by the buffet table. She sidled up
to him. ‘Ed,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Did the direct approach work?’
‘Quantrell’s taking me to his lab tonight.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘I want you to let Sykes and Ratchet know. Just in
case.’
‘In case what?’
Instantly she fell silent as Adam came towards her.
‘Just keep it in mind,’ she muttered to Ed. Then, with an automatic
smile pasted in place, she followed Adam out the door.
They went into the hotel garage. ‘We’ll take your
car,’ he said. ‘Isabel’s going home in mine.’
‘She didn’t look too happy about it.’
‘She hasn’t much of a choice.’
Kat shook her head in disbelief. ‘Are you always
this thoughtful with your lady friends?’
‘Isabel,’ he sighed, ‘is a lovely woman with a cozy
inheritance. And a whole stable of suitors. She hardly needs me to
keep her warm at night.’
‘Do you?’
‘Do you keep Ed Novak warm at night?’
‘None of your business.’
He cocked his head. ‘Ditto.’
They got into the rented Mercedes. The smell of
leather upholstery mingled with the scent of his after-shave. It
left her feeling a little light-headed.
Kat started the car, and they swung into evening
traffic.
‘How do you like the car?’ he asked.
‘It’s okay.’
‘Okay?’ he said, obviously waiting for her to
elaborate.
‘Yeah. It’s okay.’
He looked out the window. ‘Next time, I’ll have to
choose something that’ll really impress
you.’
Kat put her foot on the gas pedal.
‘A horse-drawn chariot,’ Adam mused. ‘Or maybe a
team of sled-dogs.’ He turned to her. ‘How does that sound?’
‘I’m allergic,’ she replied, as they sailed onto
the highway.
‘To horses or dogs?’
‘To chariots and sleds.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded solemnly. ‘A unicycle it’ll have to
be, then.’
Kat felt a smile tug at the corner of her
lips.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Take the next turnoff. It’s
eight miles north.’
The road took them out of midtown Albion, into a
district of industrial parks and corporate headquarters. In the
last ten years, many of the buildings had become vacant; dark
windows and For Lease signs had sprung up
everywhere. Albion, like the rest of the country, was
struggling.
The Cygnus complex was one of the few that appeared
to house a thriving corporation. Even at eight o’clock at night,
some of the windows were still lit, and there were a dozen cars in
the parking lot. They drove past the security booth and pulled into
a stall marked Quantrell.
‘Your people work late,’ said Kat, glancing at the
parked cars.
‘The evening shift,’ said Adam. ‘We run a
twenty-four-hour diagnostic lab. Plus, some of our research people
like to keep odd hours. You know how it is with eggheads. They have
their own schedules.’
‘A flexible company.’
‘We have to be, if we want to keep good minds
around.’
They walked to the front door, where Adam pressed a
few numbers on a wall keypad and the lock snapped open. Inside,
they headed down a brightly lit hallway. No smudged walls, no
flickering fluorescent bulbs here; only the best for corporate
America.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Diagnostics. I’m going to prove to you we’re not
engaged in a cover-up.’
‘Just how are you going to do that?’
‘I’m going to personally hand over to you Xenia
Vargas’s toxicology screen.’
The diagnostics lab was a vast chamber of space-age
equipment, manned by a half-dozen technicians. The evening
supervisor, a grandmotherly type in a lab coat, immediately came to
greet them.
‘Don’t worry, Grace,’ said Adam. ‘This isn’t a
surprise inspection.’
‘Thank God,’ said Grace with a laugh. ‘We just hid
the beer keg and the dancing girls. So what can I do for you, Mr.
Q.?’
‘This is Dr. Novak, ME’s office. She wants to check
on a tox screen sent here from the state.’
‘What’s the name?’
‘Xenia Vargas,’ said Kat.
Grace sat down at a computer terminal and typed in
the name. ‘Here it is. Logged in just this afternoon. It’s not
checked priority, so we haven’t run it yet.’
‘Could you run it now?’ asked Adam.
‘It’ll take some time.’
Adam glanced at Kat. She nodded. ‘We’ll wait,’ he
said.
Grace called to another tech: ‘Val, can you check
that box of requests from the state? We’re going to run a STAT on
Xenia Vargas.’ She looked at Adam. ‘Are you sure you want to hang
around, Mr. Q.? This is going to be boring.’
‘We’ll be up in my office,’ said Adam. ‘Call us
there.’
‘Okay. But if I was dressed like that—’ she nodded at their evening clothes, ‘I’d be
out dancing.’
Adam smiled. ‘We’ll keep it in mind.’
By the time they reached Adam’s office, which was
upstairs and down a long corridor, Kat’s feet were staging a
protest against her high heels and she was silently cursing every
cobbler in Italy. The minute she hobbled through the office door,
she pulled off her shoes, and her stockinged feet sank into velvety
carpet. Nice. Plush. Slowly she gazed
around the room, impressed by her surroundings. It wasn’t just an
office; it was more like a second home, with a couch and chairs,
bookshelves, a small refrigerator.
‘I was wondering how long you’d last in those
shoes,’ Adam said with a laugh.
‘When Grace mentioned dancing, I felt like crying.’
She sat down gratefully on the couch. ‘I confess, I’m the socks and
sneakers type.’
‘What a shame. You look good in heels.’
‘My feet would beg to differ.’ Groaning, she
reached down and began to massage her instep.
‘What your feet need,’ he said, ‘is a little
pampering.’ He sat down beside her on the couch and patted his lap
in invitation. ‘Allow me.’
‘Allow you to what?’
‘Make up for that long walk down that long
hallway.’
Laughing, she rose from the couch. ‘It won’t work,
Quantrell. It takes more than a foot rub to soften up my
brain.’
He gave a sigh of disappointment. ‘She doesn’t
trust me.’
‘Don’t take it personally. When it comes to men,
I’m just an old skeptic.’
‘Ah. Deep-rooted fears. An unreliable
father?’
‘I didn’t have a father.’ She wandered over to the
bookcase, made a slow survey of the spines. An eclectic collection,
she noted, arranged in no particular order. Philosophy and physics.
Fiction and pharmacology. Over the bookcase hung several framed
diplomas, strictly Ivy League.
‘So what happened to your father?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘I
don’t even know his last name.’
Adam’s eyebrow twitched up in surprise. That was
his only reaction, but it was a telling one.
‘I know he had light brown hair. Green eyes,’ said
Kat. ‘I know he drove a nice car. And he had money, which was what
my mother desperately needed at the time. So . . .’
She smiled. ‘Here I am. Green eyes and all.’
She expected to see shock, perhaps pity in his
gaze, but there was neither. The look he gave her was one of utter
neutrality.
‘So you see,’ she said, ‘I’m not exactly to the
manner born. Though my mother used to claim she had noble Spanish
blood. But then, Mama said a lot of crazy things toward the
end.’
‘Then she’s . . .’ He paused
delicately.
‘Dead. Seven years.’
He tilted up his head, the next question plain in
his eyes.
‘Mama would say these really bizarre things,’
explained Kat. ‘And she’d get headaches every morning. I was in my
last year of medical school. I was the one who diagnosed the brain
tumor.’
Adam shook his head. ‘That must have been
terrible.’
‘It wasn’t the diagnosis that was so wrenching. It
was the part afterwards. Waiting for the end. I spent a lot of time
at Hancock General. Learned to royally despise the place. Found out
I couldn’t stand being around sick people.’ She shook her head and
laughed. ‘Imagine that.’
‘So you chose the morgue.’
‘It’s quiet. It’s contained.’
‘A hiding place.’
Anger darted through her, but she suppressed it.
After all, what he’d said was true. The morgue was a hiding place, from all those painfully sloppy
emotions one found in a hospital ward.
She said, simply, ‘It suits me,’ and turned away.
Her gaze settled on the refrigerator. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have
anything edible in there, would you?’ she asked. ‘The wine’s going
straight to my head.’
He rose from the couch and went to the
refrigerator. ‘I usually stock a sandwich or two, for those
impromptu lunch meetings. Here we are.’ He produced two
plastic-wrapped luncheon plates. ‘Let’s see. Roast beef
or . . . roast beef. What a choice.’ Apologetically
he handed her a plate. ‘Afraid it’s not quite the mayor’s benefit
dinner.’
‘That’s all right. I didn’t pay for my ticket
anyway.’
He smiled. ‘Neither did I.’
‘Oh?’
‘It was Isabel’s ticket. She’s a big fan of Mayor
Sampson.’
‘I can’t imagine why.’ Kat unwrapped the sandwich
and took a bite. ‘I think he’s Albion’s Titanic.’
‘How so?’
‘Just look at South Lexington. Sampson would like
to pretend it doesn’t exist. He caters entirely to the more
suburban areas. Bellemeade and beyond. The inner city? Forget it.
He doesn’t want to hear about the Jane Does and Nicos Biagis.’ She
went back to the couch and sat down, tucking her stockinged feet
beneath her.
He sat down as well. Not too close, she noted with
a mingling of both relief and disappointment, but sedately apart,
like any courteous host.
‘To be honest,’ he admitted, ‘I’m not a fan of
Sampson’s either. But Isabel needed an escort.’
‘And you didn’t have any better offers for the
evening?’
‘No.’ He picked up a slice of beef, and his
straight white teeth bit neatly into the pink meat. ‘Not until you
turned up.’
Kat set the plate down on the coffee table and
slowly wiped her fingers on the napkin. ‘You can flatter me all you
want,’ she said. ‘It’s not going to change things. I still have a
job to do. Questions to be answered.’
‘And suspects to be suspicious of.’
‘Yes.’
‘It doesn’t bother me, being a suspect. Because I’m
not guilty of anything. Neither is my company.’
‘Still, the name Cygnus does keep popping up in all
sorts of places.’
‘What do you want me to say? Confess that I’m
manufacturing some secret drug in the basement? Selling it on the
streets for a profit? Or maybe we can come up with a truly
diabolical scheme, say, I’m single-handedly trying to solve
Albion’s crime problem by killing off the junkies. The ultimate
drug rehab! And that’s why I was at the
mayor’s benefit. Because Sampson’s in on it too!’ He leaned forward
and smiled. ‘Come now, Kat,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t that sound the
slightest bit ridiculous?’
He did make it sound ridiculous, but she refused to
back down. ‘I don’t discount any possibilities,’ she said.
‘Even wild and crazy ones?’
‘Is it so wild and crazy?’
He was moving closer, but she was too stubborn to
give up an inch of territory on the couch. She sat perfectly still,
even as his hand reached up to touch her face, even as he stroked
her cheek. Even as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against
hers.
‘Don’t,’ she said, as the sudden heat of desire
flooded her face and roared through her veins. She said again,
louder, ‘Don’t,’ and pressed her hands
against his chest.
He pulled away, his gaze searching her face.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You. Me.’ She pushed off the couch and rose to her
feet. ‘This won’t work, Adam.’
‘I thought it was working just fine.’
‘You thought. Did you ask
me how I feel about it? Do you even care?’
He gave a sheepish laugh. ‘Man, I guess I misjudged
that.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘I need an excuse for kissing an attractive
woman?’
‘You’re trying to distract me with flattery, aren’t
you?’
‘If you knew me, you wouldn’t ask these
questions.’
‘That’s just it. I don’t
know you. Except as a phone number in the hand of a corpse, and
that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.’
The phone rang. Reluctantly he broke off eye
contact and rose to pick up the receiver. ‘Hello, Grace,’ he said.
A pause, then: ‘We’re on our way.’ He turned to Kat. ‘The results
are back.’
They found Grace sitting in front of the computer
terminal. A readout was just rolling out of the printer. She tore
off the page and handed it to Adam. ‘There you have it, Mr. Q. A
little booze. Traces of decongestant. And that.’ She pointed to a
band on the chromatographic printout.
‘Did you analyze this band?’ asked Adam.
‘I ran it against mass and UV spectrophotometry.
I’m not a hundred percent sure of its structure. It’ll take some
more noodling around. But I can tell you it’s a morphine analogue.
Something new. Levo-N-cyclobutylmethyl-6, 10 beta-dihydroxy
class.’
Kat looked sharply at Adam. He was staring at the
printout in shock.
‘Zestron-L,’ said Kat.
Grace glanced at her in puzzlement. ‘Zestron-L?
What’s that?’
‘Check with the research wing,’ said Kat. ‘They’ll
help you run the immunoassay. That should identify it once and for
all.’
‘You mean our research
wing?’ Grace looked at Adam. ‘Then it’s . . .’
Adam nodded. ‘The drug is one of ours.’